


Fynos

by catty_the_spy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Made Up Science, Marriage of Convenience, Off-screen mPreg, discussions of canon character death, mentions of miscarriage and fertility problems, use of the word “glandular”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8622652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catty_the_spy/pseuds/catty_the_spy
Summary: Mal is gone, Dom is fading, and Saito would like to kill three birds with one stone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for the hc bingo prompt « unexpected consequences of planned soulbonding ». Some years ago in fact. Ha ha ha *cries*.

  
As best Dom can understand, Saito’s motivation is this: he is coming up on the end of his twenty year grace period, and he needs a partner who will be useful to him. Dom is imperfect in many ways, but he _is_ a skilled extractor. He is also single.

“What he’s asking is impossible,” Arthur reminds him. “He’s setting you up.”

Dom drums his fingers on the edge of the table. He thinks about checking his totem, but that’s an argument he doesn’t want to have. Instead he says, “Nothing he said was entirely wrong.”

Arthur frowns. “You’re not still worried about that are you? Look, if worst comes to worst, _I’ll_ marry you.”

“And leave Sheila?”

Sheila is something of an injoke. Despite the birth certificate, social security card, college degree and detailed medical history, Sheila is a non-entity. Arthur created her to get around the International Partnership Mandate.

Dom had never worried about the IPM before – there had always been Mal, and there was never any doubt that his relationship with Mal would last forever.

Now, of course…

“Sheila’s not an issue,” Arthur says. “She could always have a terrible car accident. We’d do pretty well on her insurance.”

“And then we’d have a mandatory six months before we can even mention it. No.” Dom sighs. “Thanks.”

The matter isn’t dropped, but Arthur leaves it there.

 

Dom takes a plane to reach Eames. As always, the person running the hormone check looks upset when they see his results.

“My wife died,” he says, before the girl at the counter can open her mouth.

His hormones are a red flag. Not as bad as they used to be – right after Mal he couldn’t fly at all, because they were afraid he’d pine away en route. It had taken a great deal of wrangling to get back to the States.

The girl’s eyes are wet with sympathy. He wonders briefly what type she is. O’s tend to be more territorial, while A’s are usually overprotective. Airline employees can be better at hiding it.

“They’ll level out soon,” she says as she stamps his ticket. She gets up to walk him to the metal detector.

‘Type A’ Dom thinks.

“I’ve heard they’re working on a treatment to help speed up the leveling process. It can’t come soon enough. You know, my father pined away last month. Hormone imbalance is so hard on the body.”

“I know,” Dom says. “Thank you.”

This airport has potted plants to mark boundaries. The girl stops just in front of one.

“Hang in there,” she says. “Don’t hesitate to ask the flight attendants for help.”

 

The PASIV’s affect on hormones varies. For Cobb it does absolutely nothing. His hormones have always run in extremes, and the only thing that had normalized them was bonding with Mal. For Arthur it had a leveling effect that leant credence to Sheila.

For Eames it was difficult to tell. A type B’s hormones were mixed up so badly that the tests had no way of knowing if he were mated or not. It was part of what made him such a great Forger.

Eames, when Cobb finds him, is in the middle of trying to cash bogus chips. He reeks of cheap cologne.

“I see your spelling hasn’t improved.”

“Your smell hasn’t either. Still enjoying life as a bachelor?”

“I wouldn’t call it enjoying.”

Unlike Arthur, Eames isn’t immediately dismissive of inception. Dom finds it refreshing.

Dom has another meeting with Saito after drinks with Eames. It’s more of a progress report.

“I get the feeling that you’re following me,” Dom says.

Saito doesn’t deny it. “I protect my assets.”

Some asset. Dom hasn’t held a legal job in two years. The government has been forgiving of his remaining single because he hovers on the risk of pining to death, even after all this time.

“I would like the best timing possible,” Saito says. “When is your next heat?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve always been irregular,” Dom adds in response to Saito’s incredulous expression. “I haven’t gone into heat since my wife died.”

Saito looks contemplative, then pulls out his phone. “With your permission, I will have my doctors take possession of your medical history. In the mean time we will, perhaps, hurry things along.”

Saito produces a duffle bag full of…clothes. Presumably Saito’s clothes.

“Thank you,” Dom says. He supposes he should have been expecting it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring anything.”

Saito waves the apology away. “I will not require anything for a month. By that time your hormone response should be more predictable.”

Dom wasn’t used to this sort of thing. He and Mal had courted very informally in college. Their cycles had aligned gradually. They hadn’t needed to make any scent sharing gestures, to kickstart any alignment or carefully schedule sex to optimize their progress.

Dom had never participated in the official government matching procedure, but he understood involved more…fluids.

What Saito had given him was exactly what it appeared to be: clothes. Well worn, probably slept in, but there was no semen. Dom’s sense of smell was nothing compared to – say – Eames, but semen was something his nose could pick up a mile away. It was like the heats – something his body did in the hopes of reproducing. Saito would be able to smell it too, or to smell Dom’s fluids if he were in heat. Like most things, it waxed and waned with the flow of the cycles.

“I will provide you with the necessities after my rut has ended,” Saito’s saying. “I would prefer to wait until your heat occurs before engaging in more direct relations. It will be…easier, for both of us.”

“It will give me time to get used to you,” Dom agrees. He doesn’t have to worry about Saito taking it the wrong way.

Saito nods.

Dom needs to meet with Eames again, so that he can be introduced to a potential chemist. Saito invites himself along.

The bag of clothes sits between them in the car.

No time like the present. Dom finds an undershirt in the bag. He puts it on.

 

“Ugh,” is the first thing Eames says when he greets them. He’s slathered on more cologne. To Dom’s nose it’s _Eames_ who reeks.

The man Eames recommended – Yusuf – looks between Dom and Saito with no small amount of curiosity. Thankfully he doesn’t say anything.

He’s good. Everything Eames said he was and better.

Things are coming along.

 

Ariadne is young. Not a child, but young enough that Cobb has a few concerns bringing her in.

She’s also talented. A typical type a – headstrong, stubborn, but perfect for the job. Very smart, very quick.

Dom baits the hook and lets Arthur reel her in.

 

Miles isn’t happy with him. Dom didn’t expect him to be.

“She doesn’t deserve to be caught up in your downward spiral.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it? She’s a young impressionable alpha, and you…”

“I’m hiring her for a _job_ ,” Dom says. “I’m giving her the opportunity to experience something she’ll never see out here. If you really had a problem with it, you shouldn’t have recommended her.”

He doesn’t mention Saito. He should.

But this is not a problem. A or O, mated or not…Dom’s last heat had been a month before Mal’s death. His hormone levels were so low every trip to the doctor resulted in an argument about treatment options.

“Sign yourself up for the emergency mating program,” Miles says.

Dom scowls. “I can’t.”

“You should.”

“I _can’t_. Will you leave it alone? It’s being taken care of.”

Miles did not leave it alone, but it didn’t matter. Dom had to leave anyway.

 

Rut affected everyone differently. Mal had been violently possessive. Once their cycles had lined up, it was no problem at all – Dom was free to stay at home with her all day, devouring her and being devoured in return. There was no need to so much as look at another human being.

For Arthur, it showed itself in pickiness and bossiness. Dom usually sat back and let him take over if they were on a job. Arthur always had a greater attention to detail, then. Thanks to his partner-level hormones, he could have a one night stand or two, and the worst would be over in a day.

Saito, it seemed, had his worst symptoms last the full five days. The week before and after were a bizarre mishmash of behaviors.

Dom had given him some articles of his clothing as soon as Saito mentioned he was due. He was very demonstrative towards Dom, his secretary, and even Yusef.

“It’s normal,” Yusef said, using his new supplies without a care in the world. “We’ve been spending enough time together for the grouping instinct to become a factor. For however long we work together, we’re part of his fynos.”

Saito did extravagant things like buying airlines to make the job easier, and small things like plying Dom with coffee and muffins. He stuck close to Dom, specifically, which made sense. The team may have been a temporary fynos – and his employees another – but Dom was who he was interested in, and who he – to put it bluntly – had been whacking off too every night.

Saito disappeared for the requisite five days where his urges were the strongest. When he came back, Dom ended up wearing his clothes. Apparently, like Mal, Saito was possessive; but instead of snapping at anyone who looked at him, Saito did his best to make sure no one would mistake Dom for free game.

At the end of it, when Saito’s behavior cycled down to normal, _Dom_ ended up being checked over by Saito’s team of doctors. After much discussion, they presented Saito and Dom with two recommendations:

First, they recommended scent marking, as some of Saito’s over the top behavior had had a positive effect on Dom’s health. Dom tried not to flinch every time they said the word “glandular”.

Second, they wanted controlled exposure to sexual emissions, which was an overwrought way of saying that Dom would need to masturbate for the sake of his health.

“Simply exchange the results of each session, and work the material into your normal self care routine,” the head doctor said, aiming for tact. “If you use fabric, we recommend un-treated cotton.”

 

Mal is becoming a problem. Not Mal, not the actual Mal, but the shade that haunts him every time he dreams.

He wonders sometimes if this is what keeps him in the red zone. Most knowledge about dream-share’s affect on hormones it just hearsay. There are the obvious drawbacks to overuse – the inability to dream naturally, for one – but most people involved in dreamshare either worked with their partners or had none at all. Couples tended to die close together, before anyone had the chance to worry about pining.

He and Mal only ever skirted the edge of illegal dreamshare. Dom had been free to suffer alone, in a hospital, with the police guarding his door for company. Most of the investigation happened before the hospital released him – talking to Mal’s lawyer, talking to family and friends. For the detectives, the seven-day ground on Mal’s passport and some previous unstable behavior were enough for them to let Dom go. It’s a lucky break; most courts tend to lean in favor of O’s, especially when problems occur during peaks.

She became paranoid, they said, when Dom’s heat didn’t appear when her rut did. A simple thing, an imbalance that forced her into extreme behavior. So easy to miss the signs. It could happen to anyone.

Dom had nodded along because that was more plausible than the truth.

The court of public opinion ruled in the opposite direction. He wasn’t surprised when Mal’s mother refused him access to his children. After all, she was partially right – Mal’s death _had_ been his fault.

Not long after that, Dom went back to the hospital, this time for bleeding and abdominal cramps.

A simple imbalance. It could happen to anyone.

It was all downhill from there.

 

“Last chance,” Arthur says, placing a danish and a cup of coffee on Dom’s desk. He’s sweating.

Dom realizes he’s lost track of the days again. It’s not unusual. Sometimes he won’t notice until Arthur pries his work out if his hands and tells him he’s leaving.

“I’m sorry,” Dom starts, but Arthur cuts him off.

“Forget about that. Are you _sure_?”

“Yes.” Dom sighs. “Arthur, I…. you should have an actual relationship. I appreciate your offer, honestly, but I have kids; you hate kids. Pairing with Saito is no less risky than getting an assigned partner or using the EPP.”

Arthur couldn’t suppress a growl at the mention of the EPP. EPP took the accelerated timeline of normal matchings and compressed it down to a month. It was two weeks of forced heats sandwiched around a week to recuperate, and the program only counted the bond as valid if there was a pregnancy. For many people it was worth the trouble.

How much of Arthur’s reaction was his own distaste, and how much of it was him reflecting _Dom’s_ aversion to the idea? It was something Dom had noticed from both Mal and Arthur; Arthur would try to protect him from his own thoughts if he could.

“I’ll be fine,” Dom adds.

Arthur scoffs. Later, when the rut is over and Arthur’s back to normal, they’ll pretend this conversation never happened. Like Saito’s hovering only a few weeks earlier, it was Arthur’s hormone addled way of showing he cared.

“I’ll do what I need to.”

Dom tries not to smile.

“I won’t hesitate,” Arthur insists. Protective.

Dom can’t find the energy to mind. “I know. I don’t think it will come to that.”

Arthur gives him a curt nod. He stands over Dom, stiff as a board, to make sure the Danish disappears.

As soon as Arthur’s departed the warehouse, Eames opens every window he can find.

 

Dom wakes up one morning to find the bed covered in slick. For a while he’s too startled to react.

He’s not aroused. There are none of the symptoms he expects from his heat. It doesn’t even smell like he’d come in his sleep.

He’d just…leaked. He’s still leaking. It’s the feeling of it running down his leg that jerks him out of his stupor.

He feels loose and wet and disgusting. Saito’s billion dollar team of doctors might possibly jump for joy when they find out, but Dom is mostly confused and annoyed. He’d barely produced anything when he’d masturbated; he rarely produced this much even when he was in _heat_.

He takes a shower. He can’t afford to waste time. This isn’t heat; he can work through it.

 

He goes under with Arthur. The dream oozes around the edges.

Arthur gives him a look.

“Does it feel like I’m hiding something?” Dom says. In the real world there is no noticeable smell, but now he treads through ooze that reeks of cologne.

Arthur sniffs the sole of his shoe. “Eames,” he says, with no small amount of frustration. “This isn’t the first time.”

“You’re coming down, and I’m…this, which explains why it’s more noticeable.”

Even now he feels like he’s swimming.

“Try not to focus on it,” Arthur says. “I’d rather not _drown_.”

“The smell is coming into the dream,” Dom says, as soon as he opens his eyes. He wastes no time pulling the needle out of his arm. He’d tried everything he could think of to contain the problem, but he still felt like it was everywhere.

“Eames, will you be able to travel without the cologne?”

“Anything that would kill my sense of smell will interfere with the somacin,” Eames says. Apparently he’s worried about this before.

Yusuf frowns. “Perhaps something you can spread under your nose; it would be all you could smell, but it wouldn’t be overpowering to the rest of us.”

“Perfect.”

Dom pretends he doesn’t notice Arthur sniffing him.

Arthur follows him back to his desk, frowning all the way.

“What the hell is going on?”

“They’re trying to kickstart my cycle without inducing it,” Dom explains, debating the merits of sitting down.

“Why?” Arthur frowns. “The inducers are perfectly safe.”

“We agreed it would be best.”

The “we” doesn’t make a difference to Arthur’s expression.

“I’m not a fan of hormone shots,” Dom says, and leaves it at that.

 

Dom realizes, perhaps too late, that he’s forgotten what it’s like in a fynos of more than two. He’s used to it being him and Arthur where before there was him and Arthur and the children and Mal.

Your wife and children or your mother and father – that’s a pack. The largest packs had great grandparents and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephew and siblings and their families together, but fynos? That was your community. Your neighbors, your friends, anyone you interact with for significant amounts of time; that was a fynos.

Fynos was both more and less than pack. You could choose your fynos. For the most part, you could not choose your pack.

With that in mind, Dom shouldn’t be surprised about Ariadne slipping into his dream. Shouldn’t be – isn’t. This isn’t surprise. This is _anger_ and a little bit of fear.

Mal’s shade is more dangerous in dreams than she was in real life.

 

Once, before Phillipa, Mal had stroked his face during a lull in their drives.

“It’s not as strong this month,” Dom said, meaning Mal’s rut. His heats had usually been mild.

Mal hummed and leaned in close like she was telling him a secret. “You smell different.”

Dom laughed. “Different how?”

“Just…different.” She sniffed under his chin, behind his ear, and Dom laughed.

“Different,” Mal said again. “I think maybe…”

Her smile was slow and warm. She ran her fingers down his chest until she reached his stomach.

Dom gets it, finally. “Really? I didn’t notice.”

“I think my body noticed before either of us,” Mal said. “I think next month I will not have a rut.”

He couldn’t kiss her properly; he was smiling too hard. It was okay, because she was smiling too.

 

Mal – Mal’s shade – tries to kill Ariadne. This Mal can’t smell the difference between fynos and threat. This Mal can’t smell who the real threat is. She attacks Ariadne because Ariadne is an alpha, an alpha in Dom’s head.

Would she attack Saito, if they met again? Would she attack Arthur, now?

“What the hell?” Ariadne shrieks as soon as she’s free.

Dom doesn’t have a good answer.

 

“It’s possible that your condition is a result of medical intervention,” Dom’s specialist said. “The attempt to artificially inflate your hormone levels…it’s a risky procedure to begin with, and in your situation, with your medical history being what it is, it’s possible that your body began to reject your own M2 as well as the artificial.”

“What does that mean?” Dom asked. He was in New York and his children were in Paris. He hadn’t seen them in six months.

“When those doctors tried to prevent the inevitable, they threw an already fragile system out of balance. Mild heats, difficult pregnancies – all hormone related. Your primary physician should have picked it up years ago. Mating boosts M2 production, which is why the loss of a partner can cause pining.”

This doctor was nice enough. So old that he occasionally called Dom an omega – “Pardon me, Mr. Cobb, no offense meant” – but he came highly recommended, and he’d know if use of the PASIV was what was keeping Dom from leveling out.

“If it was me, I wouldn’t have given you the AHM. Not so soon after a traumatic loss. At least they had good reason to try.” He took off his glasses and sighed. “As for what this means for you, Mr. Cobb, I only have two recommendations: time, and another spouse. Your body’s natural responses should reassert themselves without medication, but it’s extraordinarily difficult to return to normal without a new mate to take the place of the old one.

“In the mean time,” he added, “try and rest. Spend time with your relatives, especially your children. That’s the best advice you’re going to get anywhere.”

Dom had called his children. Hearing their voices hadn’t helped.

 

Saito circles him once he shows up at the warehouse, clearly trying to make sense of the signals Dom is giving off. The day becomes a mess from there.

Eames claims a headache and holes up in his own well ventilated corner of the warehouse, as far from the rest of them as he can get. Saito and Arthur are territorial and snippy; Adrienne has the good sense to make herself scarce. Yusuf is mostly likely none the wiser; he’d disappeared to take care of his heat the day before, and no one expects to see him until next week.

Saito circles Dom again, desk and all, while Arthur glares at him.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Saito says. His jacket is draped over the back of Dom’s chair, and he’d replaced Arthur’s coffee offering with his own.

Dom is trying to split his time equally between his new coffee and the scone Arthur brought him. If Arthur kept feeding him he was going to turn into a marshmallow.

“I doubt it will make more sense after you wear a hole in the floor,” Arthur says, a little too casual.

Dom rolls his eyes at the both of them. This is a hierarchy problem they can sort out without his help.

There were vials on his desk. Different types of somacin Yusef wanted them to try, sedatives in different strengths. Too much of Yusef. Dom looked around for a box to sweep them into.

“I’m done,” Dom decides.

Arthur raises his eyebrows, surprised and pleased. “No last minute checks to run?”

Dom thinks of Ariadne’s second encounter with Mal.

“No point. We’ll test Eames’s nose tomorrow before he leaves. Call me if Fischer Senior dies.”

“Sure.”

Arthur grabs his jacket but Dom waves him off.

“I need to talk with Saito. Call me later. And tell Yusuf to keep his stuff off my desk.”

They take Saito’s car to Dom’s hotel.

“You should talk to my kids,” Dom says. “When I call them tonight. They should have some idea of who you are.”

“I’ve been holding video conferences from my hotel room. Perhaps we could do something similar.”

Dom shakes his head. “I don’t think they even have a computer. A regular phone call will have to do.”

In the bathroom of his hotel room, Dom checks his totem. It falls into the tub.

He can hear Saito speaking rapidly in Japanese. He can smell him on his clothes.

This is technically a good thing. He should be able to smell Saito this strongly – he’s been sharing clothes with him for weeks. He should smell him more strongly because he’s single, because he’s been convincing his body that this is a relationship, because this is a relationship.

Dom washes his hands. He doesn’t need to, but he does. Then he washes them again after he touches a towel because the type o cleaning lady handled his linens again.

He wastes a few minutes pulling his sheets off his bed and kicking them into the hallway. Saito waits for him to finish, fiddling with his phone.

“Will you need a private room?” he asks, as casually as if they were discussing lunch.

“I beg your pardon?” Dom says, checking to make sure the appropriate signs are still attached to his door. The little “o in residence” placard is still hanging at eye level.

“I was thinking about our living arrangements. Would you like a room of your own?”

“Do you mean sleeping separately rather than sharing a room?”

“Consider it a home office; you may sleep wherever you like. I thought that you might appreciate something that was not communal property. It’s quite common in Japan.”

Dom takes a moment to think about it, even though he’s still on edge. He hates hotels.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he decides. “I’ve never had problems sharing territory with my family.”

Saito seems surprised. “I know many people who would not be so accommodating.”

Dom shrugs.

“You should join me in my hotel; there are no o’s serving my floor.”

“I’m not normally this bad,” Dom says, feeling a bit sheepish.

“It would be more convenient, for both of us. When your heat begins, neither of us will have to travel.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The phone call is agonizingly brief. If Miles had been on the other side it would’ve been longer; Mal’s mother is quick to hang up on him. At least he’d been able to give the kids good news – he’d be home as soon as the doctors say he can travel. If that happens to be after the Fischer job is done, they’ll be none the wiser.

 

Yusuf is gone – visiting his wife for five days – and Eames is still shadowing Fischer. That leaves Arthur and Ariadne to share the warehouse with, and Ariadne is getting antsy.

“I’m irregular!” she protests, when Arthur gives her grief about the lack of warning.

Dom shoos her away from his desk. She smells more like milk than an alpha going into rut.

“I’m gone,” he tells Arthur when he runs out of busy work. “Call me…”

“If anything comes up.” Arthur sighs. “I got it.”

He meets Saito for lunch.

“We should spend more time together,” Dom suggests.

“I agree,” says Saito. “You should come with me to the hotel.”

Dom blinks. “That’s not quite what I meant.”

“I’m aware.”

 

“I had a dream we’d grow old together,” he’d said. He felt like an idiot as soon as it came out of his mouth.

But Mal just smiled and scented him. She even sniffed his throat – awfully intimate for a university hallway. He’s never felt as alive as he did when he felt her breath on his neck. Her smell was already burnt into his system. He’d never forget her.

“Tell me more about this dream,” she said, and took his hand.

 

Saito’s hotel room is everything Dom had expected it to be.

“It smells good in here.”

“The staff knows that I’m in a relationship.”

A relationship. To Dom it was still more of a business deal than anything else.

“I would prefer that our synchronization go smoothly.”

“So would I,” Dom says. He turns down the volume on his phone.

It’s getting late but they drink coffee and watch the news. A plane went down in Sydney – unexpected heat midflight – and the anchors discuss tightening the restrictions on air travel.

At one point Saito gets a phone call, Dom checks his own phone, and they end up doing work together. Dom gets twitchy when Saito has a long talk with his secretary, but he shrugs it off easily. It’s a good sign.

They both need this to work. The EPP is Dom’s only other option, and Saito doesn’t have time to search for another mate. This is it.

Saito checks his watch in between phone calls. “Would you be willing to say overnight? I can arrange for a change of clothes.”

Dom hesitates. “I need to call my kids.”

“You can call them from here.”

It’s a good idea. And it would help with…it would help.

“I should warn you, I’m leaking.”

Saito smiles. “I remember. We should masturbate together.”

And that settles it.

 

He admits to himself that Mal’s token is becoming less and less helpful, if it was ever helpful at all.

When the children invade his dreams, there are three of them.

 

“Again,” Saito says out of the blue. “I’m two weeks early.”

“Okay,” Dom says after a moment of thought. “Would you like me to come over? During, that is.”

Saito raises his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t be uncomfortable?”

“It would help the bonding process,” Dom says. Without being asked, Saito has started to fix him a cup of coffee.

The secretary is wearing new earrings.

“The doctors _did_ want us to have sexual interactions. It’s not that much of a leap.”

It was something normal pairbonds did.

“Then would you give me the honor of your company next week?”

 

Dom went ahead and checked out of his hotel.

 

“I would like to touch you,” Saito says.

“Yes. I – ”

Dom steps closer. Saito kisses him and pulls him in, shaking with the effort to control himself. Dom startles a bit. He hasn’t been desired like this in…a while.  
Saito strips him of his clothes.

“I would like to – ”

“Yes,” Dom says.

Saito leads them to the bed and pushes Dom onto it, settling between his spread legs. He sniffs Dom’s growing erection, rubs his chin over it, licks the skin of Dom’s inner thighs.

Saito, like most type a’s, likes to mouth at Dom’s neck while they’re tied. He also likes to make tiny thrusts periodically to make Dom clench. His hands wander. He gets Dom hard again and jerks him off while making those tiny, barely there thrusts. By the time his knot goes down – a full twenty minutes later – they’re fucking in earnest, sharp jabbing thrusts that make Saito’s come squelch out between them as he mindlessly tries to tie them again.

The third time they tie, at some absurd hour of the night, Saito mumbles in Japanese “I’d like to get you pregnant.”

Dom finds himself laughing, not at Saito, but at the idea of it. For all they know Dom may be permanently infertile. Even if that wasn’t the case, Dom isn’t in heat. The odds of him getting pregnant outside of his heat are astronomically low. Saito’s rut has helped him forget this.

Saito nips him. He kisses the same spot and Dom laughs again. Maybe Saito will be embarrassed when he’s thinking clearly.

“Go to sleep,” Dom tells him, because he knows Saito will if he asks.

 

His phone buzzes. He growls, still half asleep, and it takes him a bit to realize that it’s only his phone. A text message. It can’t be Arthur. Arthur wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency – and in that case he really would call, not text.

Saito grunts and shifts, slipping out of him. He’s running hot. Dom kicks the blanket away so they don’t overheat. That would be an awkward way to wind up in the hospital.

He should get up and get them both some water.

Instead he rolls onto his stomach and goes back to sleep.

 

“When I was younger, I would go every ten minutes.”

“Well,” Dom says, trying to get the feeling back in his arm. “Thank God for middle age.”

 

Saito makes a soft disappointed noise when he wakes and pulls Dom closer, nuzzling him.

“Get some water,” Dom says.

Saito grunts, stroking his sides.

“Saito.” Dom rolls over, trying to ignore how sticky he feels. “Get some water.” He says it again in fumbling Japanese. If they were synced it would be easier. They’d be in and out of it at the same time. “I’m thirsty. You should get the pitcher.”

He isn’t, not really, but the fib is enough to break through the haze. Saito rolls out of bed and stumbles towards the door. Some teenaged part-time employee had slipped a complimentary “good luck” cart into the room, with a pitcher of water, fruit and other table foods, and a few bottles of whatever passed for electrolytes around here.

Saito brings the pitcher back. No cups. Dom leaves it at that. He doesn’t want to leave the bed in case Saito saw it as rejection. That was always a risk until they were properly mated.

Health classes, mandatory from elementary through university, had been detailed enough that he didn’t want to experience the results first hand.

 

When Dom was a pre-teen he’d earned five bucks an hour delivering carts to mating couples. He’d kept his job longer than most – longer than most young o’s especially. When pheromones were running high, he didn’t have a strong scent. As a teen he’d come off as vague, the way Eames did, and that plus the milky pup scent kept things calm. Eventually he’d aged out of the program.

It made sense in retrospect, why he’d been so unthreatening to other o’s.

 

Dom woke in desperate need of the toilet. He sat up carefully. Saito squeezed once and let go – as sure a sign as any that his rut was done. Dom made it to the toilet and back in less than five minutes. When he returned, Saito was watching him.

“There’s food by the door,” Dom said.

“Are you hungry?”

Honestly? “No.”

Saito grunted and didn’t move. For a while it seemed like he’d fallen asleep. He certainly needed the rest; he’d hardly slept, too focused on breeding. Dom couldn’t help by be flattered.

“I wonder if I’ve made you uncomfortable this week, when I had little control over my behavior.”

“Not at all.”

Someone’s phone rang. Saito growled softly but didn’t get up, and didn’t stop Dom from seeing whose phone it was.

It’s Dom’s. Saito has a series of texts from his secretary and someone who’s name Dom can’t decipher. He brings both phones back to the bed.

Dom flipped his phone open. “Yes?”

“Fischer Senior is dead,” said Arthur.

Shit. “When?”

“Last night. Eames is flying in at ten. I’d say we have two days before Junior as able to move the body.”

“Okay. Send me a message when he lands.”

“Will you be…occupied?”

Dom glanced at Saito, who was drowsily picking through his texts. He had one hand on Dom’s hip.  
“We’ll be free.”

 

In between ties, with the room lit by the moon and Saito sweating next to him, Dom shoved his hand between the mattress and the box spring. He found his gun first but didn’t linger on it. He slid his hand sideways until he hit his totem.

It fell quickly, rolling under the bed, and he sighed because he’d have to get out of bed to get it, and that would take doing.

 

No matter what happens, when the plane lands, Dom will be able to have his children back.

There will be no talk of getting them used to life without him. Nothing about him being on the brink of death.

It hovers in front of him like a mirage while the plane takes off, while Fischer falls unconscious and the flight attendant brings the case.

There will be an end to this. No matter what.

 

 _You’re waiting for a train_ …

 

Fischer Jr. wasn’t an O. That made it easier. He didn’t subconsciously reject Dom’s presence in his mind; didn’t subconsciously reject Mr. Charles.

Dom adjusted his sleeves as he turned the corner into the bathroom. Wedding ring yes, medicalert bracelet no. Alright.

And the Mr. Charles gambit worked, always better with A’s than O’s.

 

Mal was waiting as always on the edges. A broken glass, three faceless children, a shoe dropping from the sky.

Everywhere in dreams, and not as she should be.

 

Dom rolled over and Saito rolled with him, laying over part of the sheet. Dom could hear, just faintly, some sort of tinkling music from below.

His thoughts drifted – he’d sound proofed his office, but it wasn’t quite this nice; Phillipa and James had started claiming pieces of furniture, which was either a sign or a simple behavior issue; everyone was going to be territorial once it sunk in that Saito was staying; either his phone was dead or Arthur was too busy to call.

Saito inhaled deeply and turned his head. He pressed his nose to Dom’s inner elbow, to the dip between his collar bones, to just under the edge of his jaw. Dom huffed. This sort of behavior could be annoying, but right now it was just amusing.

Saito grabbed Dom’s left arm and lifted it halfheartedly.

“This,” he said, shaking the arm so Dom’s bracelet twisted, “is cold.”

“If I take it off I’ll lose it.”

“It is offensive to me.” Saito let Dom’s arm fall. “I should find you another one.”

“They’re all going to have some metal on them.”

Saito finished with Dom’s upper body and pulled the sheet down.

“I might not have to wear it much longer,” Dom said, looking at the bracelet again.

“Perhaps.” Saito hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose you find it useful in your profession.”

“The last time I wore one, people were less thorough about searching my luggage. They’re too easy to track now that they have that electronic database. The barcodes.”

Saito hummed. He moved the sheet lower.

There was a problem regular travelers had – type O travelers especially – where they started to think of hotel rooms as theirs. Park benches, theatre seats, checkout counters, restaurant booths, but especially hotel rooms. An eighty year old woman who lead the children’s room at a library had to retire when she began to get aggressive over the space; sharing with milk scented eight years olds was different from sharing with their parents. The habit tended to worsen with age.

Dom can see himself getting attached to this hotel room.

“I should send gifts to your family,” Saito says, making his way across Dom’s pelvis. His quiet, almost polite, inhales have turned into open nuzzling.

“Is that the come-down talking or are you really suggesting it?”

“What better way to show your family that I can provide for them?”

The come-down then.

“The kids might enjoy it,” Dom concedes, “but I can’t see Marie or Miles looking forward to it.” Or accepting it, in Marie’s case. The only thing she’d accept from Dom was her daughter back.

He looks at the bracelet again. The last time he wore one of these, Marie told him he needn’t bother seeing the kids.

“They might as well mourn you now.” Might as well get used to being orphans. She was waiting for him to pine off, and she knew he deserved it.

“I have a niece who is eight,” Saito says. “Perhaps she and your daughter will have similar interests.”

“She likes pink. She likes horses, cats. James likes mud.” And marking his territory in living room corners. “They both like digging and finding bugs.”

Phillipa had Mal’s coloring.

Dom forces his thoughts away from the sting and his mind drifts – he dreams of more children and no children, a sister he doesn’t have, a stern father and one who let him ride on his shoulders, two funerals for two mothers. Idly, Dom flips over his bracelet and lets it tell him what he already knows.

 

Dom and Mal did grow old together. They stayed in limbo and built worlds, free from all obligations. There were no heats or ruts, no disapproving parents, no lingering deadlines. They were just…them. Just Mal. Just Dom. Just together.

There were inklings, tugs at the back of the mind, holes, something missing, but in limbo it was easy to let the facts slip away. To forget the children’s faces. Forget their voices. To create shadows in the corner of the eye – a flash of color, a remembered sound – but something was missing. Their friends and family, their pack, their fynos, their offspring; they were more than shadows. This wasn’t _real_.

Mal, over time, forgot. She didn’t notice the vague details, or didn’t want to. She didn’t catch the glimpse of their children and hate their missing scent. She couldn’t face the absence. When Dom couldn’t cajole her, he planted a single insidious idea.

And because of this, on their anniversary, Mal jumped out of a hotel window.

Dom and Mal indulged in a small eternity, and it was beautiful, and it was over now.

This shade can’t laugh at Dom’s jokes. She can’t share wine and cigarettes with Marie. She couldn’t embellish the story of James’s birth. She didn’t know Mal’s secrets, the ones she kept hidden from Dom.

This wasn’t the woman with whom he’d had very nearly three children. She was just a twisted manifestation of his own guilt, and he needed to let her go.

 

_A train that will take you far away…_

 

Fischer Junior was an A, which made things easier. His subconscious was militarized, which made things harder. And Saito was shot on the first level, which made things harder still.

But Fischer being an A made the Mr. Charles gambit workable, and eventually….

Eventually Dom dealt with Mal, and Fischer was successfully incepted, and no one went insane.

But before and after and inside that was an eternity of limbo, and the beach, and searching for Saito over and over again. Sometimes Saito was found, and sometimes there was nothing but sand and water.

It was limbo. It was.

Inside and outside of this eternity, Dom had promised to try with Saito. Heats or no heats, children and no more children, Dom was willing to do it.

Saito was his mate after all.

And they would be, could be, young men together.

**Author's Note:**

> Some things got left on the cutting room floor, so to speak. Like revisiting Phillipa and James’ birth (on broad terms), and more movie plot. But honestly I didn’t want to give you a blow by blow of the movie plot. It happens, it’s pretty similar, some of the details are different. And as for the “when they were born” scenes, picture this: a normal hospital birth, with more mpreg and maybe he licks the baby; then picture everyone dressed like a scientist handling vials of smallpox. I couldn’t really find a place for it. I think it’s cool from a worldbuilding perspective but the further I got the less I wanted to slot them in. Then again, I also planned on ending this differently (several years ago, when I started writing this, aahhhhh).  
> Anyway….
> 
> I feel like this was almost more about Mal/Dom than it was about Cobb/Saito. Oops.


End file.
